Bobbies, Bombs and the Blackout (Pt 3)
by Roy Ingleton

In order to deny such spies, fifth-columnists, and any invading troops the use of local motor vehicles, driver were required to immobilise their cars and motor cycles. It was the task of the police to ensure that the regulations were complied with and, where the driver had failed to do so, to take the necessary steps themselves. On one occasion, a function was being held at a hotel in Sittingbourne and the patrolling War Reserve Constable discovered that none of the cars parked outside had been properly immobilised. The constable therefore went diligently from car to car, lifting the bonnet and removing the rotor arm from each, which he proudly took to the police station for collection by the owners once the function had finished. Unfortunately, he failed to mark the rotor arms in any way and the poor motorists spent most of the night trying to sort them out.

With the invasion of Britain believed to be imminent, the possibility of public panic was greatly feared in high places. The Chief Constable of Maidstone went so far as to instruct his men that, in the event of an invasion, there was to be no evacuation of the civilian population of the town and, in order to keep the roads clear for military traffic, people were to be prevented from leaving the town, by force if necessary. As for the police themselves, not being part of the Armed Forces, they were not expected to put up any resistance in the event of an invasion, but were to look after the civilians in their area. This policy was later amended somewhat and the police were told that, in any area not actually occupied by the enemy, they should not hesitate to use any weapons to deal with enemy infiltrators, saboteurs and such-like.

As a general rule, however, the British tradition of an unarmed police force was continued and only those officers on special duties carried any sort of firearm. Judging from some of the stories concerning negligent and inexperienced policemen who had been issued with guns, this was perhaps just as well.

The Home Guard, which the police were involved in setting-up, was one of the many new bodies with which they had to work. These were local men whose relations with the police varied widely according to the location and their social strata. The village policeman had to accept that the local poacher was now doing his bit for the country and putting his excellent marksmanship and field-craft to good use in the Home Guard. There is no doubt that a few members of the Home Guard were quick to settle old scores and took delight in making policemen – who were well known to them – produce their identity cards at the point of a rifle.

At this time, the police woman was a very rare bird; in July 1940 there were but 128 policewomen in the provinces and there remained considerable resistance to the employment of women for what was often seen as an essentially male preserve. But if some senior officers objected to subjecting women police officers to the rigours of police life, they had no such reluctance where the wives of their officers were concerned. A policeman’s wife, especially in the country, was regarded as a sort of unpaid auxiliary and expected to clean the police office, answer the telephone, provide meals for any prisoners and generally assist her husband in his work. Some young brides found this strange and one policeman recalls his wife, having been asked to provided a meal for a prisoner, making her way towards the cell with a tray, covered with a spotless teacloth, the best cutlery and crockery and a full cooked breakfast. He quickly stopped her and exchanged the meal for a piece of bread and a lump of cheese that he served up with a cup of water.

During the war, the common criminal prisoner was joined by captured German airmen. One Kent policeman, whose beat covered much of the Romney Marsh, collected the pilots from four separate German planes which had been brought down during the Battle of Britain. He conveyed them, one by one, to his police house where he left them in the charge of his wife. He said that, from his wife’s attitude, it was clear that the Germans were more in fear of her than the other way round.

Throughout all the grimness of war glimpses of humour shone through. One policeman, crawling from the ruins of a house where he had been trying to rescue trapped survivors, was greeted by a Warden with the comment, ‘Gosh, you are in a mess!’ The weary policeman nonchalantly brushed his filthy, torn uniform with his grimy hands and replied, ‘Yes, that’s the trouble with navy blue – it shows every mark!’

Many performed great feats of gallantry, especially in the rescue of trapped victims of air raids and in the locating and disposal of unexploded bombs. Some of these deeds were recognised by the award of medals and commendations; many more went unrecorded and unremarked. The only police recipient of the George Cross – the highest civilian award for gallantry – went to a part-time Special Constable in Coventry. Nearly 200 police officers were awarded the George Medal, the next highest gallantry decoration. One recipient was Constable Thomas Spain of the Folkestone Borough Police who was decorated for tunnelling to reach an injured and trapped woman whom he tended and comforted until help arrived. At one point he started to treat her injured hand until she stopped him, saying; ‘Oh, don’t worry about that – it’s only plum jam. I must have stuck my hand in the jar when the bomb went off.’

Shortly afterwards the same officer was on duty in the fish market when a land mine exploded in the area, destroying a vast area of fishermen’s cottages. Dazed and partially blinded by the blast, he came to his senses and was able to rescue a young girl from a badly damaged pub. The police box that he had just left was never seen again.

It must be added that Thomas Spain was no young macho officer but a 51 year old veteran of the Great War with 27 years service in the police.